Audio added to provide rhythm to the poem:

 

There lived a man alone at home,
We shall just call him X.
And in his house there lived two ghosts,
Called compress and distress.

The man he thought he was healthy
But burdened under stress.
For the ghosts like tapeworms sucked through him
His spirit and creative best.

He lived a life full of fire
And ashes and duress.
But he thought he had let them go
At therapist’s behests.

He knew he was a being still played
It was more than just a guess.
For on the frequent nights of loathe
He was to himself dangerous.

One day he did discover
A Hint To all this mess.
The ghosts they had hidden a scar
Right on top of his head.

It pointed back into time’s maze
Too difficult to express
And so X’s journey began
His life with eyes afresh.

He trudged resolute on this path
Brimming full of interest.
But still no moment came to him
To which he could attest.

So he went over, over again till
he uncovered his cleft.
And what he discovered left him
Silently bereft.

This was no happenstance that he had
Stumbled on and met.
He had been stricken since day one
It was just his kismet.

These ghosts he had thought of as life
They had been givers at first.
In fact compress had been depressed
Under extreme distress.

She was invaded when she first
met and loved distress.
For he was just the kind of thing that oozed fake tenderness.

He molded her in his image
And thus she was regressed.
For what is compression but a form of controlled distress.

When they were both the same mind
And the same flesh.
They could not help but plant themselves
Right under X’s head.

And there they tried to take over
But X didn’t acquiesce.
And so they slowly burrowed in
Invincibly coalesced.

Eating away from the inside
They thought it was kindness.
But as they ran their blade through him
X lost to their caress.

And X was broken as today
To himself abhorrent.
What could he do after all,
For they were his own parents.